


Sing at ease

by withered



Series: these violent delights [7]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Avengers: Endgame, Deathless Tony Stark, Funeral, I do not subscribe to that reality, Idealization of death, Just so we're clear this is the only time I'm referencing endgame, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War, Pre-Relationship, but we know I'm nothing without Tony Stark, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 22:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19344121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: Tony Stark isn't standing in front of him. He can't be. Tony Stark is dead.





	Sing at ease

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unikormz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unikormz/gifts).



> I BEG OF YOU, PLEASE LISTEN TO  FALLEN BY GERT TABERNER

 

 

 

 _A body is but a vessel,_ the bit of raised concrete reads, two days after Tony Stark dies.

Bucky doesn’t get to say goodbye, at least not to his face.

Not that Bucky was ever granted a _hello_ in the first place, but the sentiment holds.

It’s the strangest thing – being able to affect someone’s life the way he has – without ever having said two words to them.

It wasn’t like Hydra needed him for his enunciation, or his uncanny ability to keep a neutral accent after half a century under their thumb.

Still.

With Tony – with Tony, Bucky felt like he should’ve said something, _anything_.

Well.

Not _anything_.

He isn’t so good with words, not anymore. But Bucky would’ve tried. He’d have made it count. He only needed two words his entire adult life: when he got that job in the factories and Steve didn’t, when he got drafted and Steve didn’t, when he got captured and Steve thought he’d saved him – it wouldn’t even take two seconds, and maybe – _maybe Tony would get it._

(That Bucky meant what he would say.

That he never meant to be who he was, who they’d turned him into; that he never meant to do what he could.

That Bucky’s just _so fucking sorry –_ )

But they hadn’t been given even that.

Maybe, Bucky comforts himself, it’s for the best.

Apologizing seems like a selfish thing – a way to assuage his own guilt for his part in ruining Tony’s life – in taking his parents, in destroying the Avengers –

“Wow, who died?”

He pauses bodily and looks up to find Tony standing across from him.

Which is not actually happening.

It can’t.

Because Tony – Tony is dead.

The Infinity Stones had torn through every atom of Tony when he’d Snapped.

There had been a murmured discussion of cremation over the Iron Man suit, of what remained of it. And then there was the ceremony itself; a quiet affair on the cliff they’re standing on in Malibu.

As Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes scattered the ashes, the sun had blazed gold and bled red just as it did on that day on the battlefield.

Only later did Bucky realize that the first sunset he’d seen when he’d been brought back hadn’t been the sun at all – but Tony himself – who’d grappled with a Titan and _won._

Which brings him back to the point: Tony Stark. Standing. In front of him.

Rapidly, Bucky blinks, and then he’s rubbing fists against his eyes and blinking some more.

It doesn’t help.

Tony’s still there, a slight smirk at his mouth like he’s almost amused, and none of this makes sense – how is this –

“Possible?” the man offers, lifting his brows in mock surprise, and his hands move in a theatrical wave as his shoulders roll in a shrug before his teeth flash in a smirk. “Well, you’re not the only one who’s got the market cornered on being unkillable.”

It reminds Bucky of the day the Winter Soldier protocols were reactivated – When Tony had all but _danced_ towards him, armed with nothing but a gauntlet and a pair of sunglasses, and flawlessly disarmed him when Bucky had thrown off literally everyone else – When Tony had been almost pleasantly surprised and Bucky had been too – When Tony had _smirked_ and Bucky’s heart had jumped out of sync for just a _second_ – When he thought, impossibly _Thank god –_

“You’re alive,” Bucky breathes, and he’s – astounded, relieved, baffled, grateful?

He’d been wrong-footed ever since he’d been reactivated and put to sleep and then defrosted again, and the aftermath of the second Snap only added to the confusion and the inexplicable loss as the whys clouded his brain like a fog: Why this, why that, why them? Before circling the drain on _why bring me back, why take Tony instead?_

Tony, who’d peeled himself off the floor of the Bunker, and fought to give the world the accountability it needed from its heroes. Tony, who’d lost everyone in the first Snap, and somehow forged hope from the ashes; who brought the planet – the galaxy – back from the brink of collapse. Tony, who saved the day on an exponential – global – _cosmic –_ scale.

Tony, who, out of everyone, deserved to live; after all he’s done and all he’s been.

So, this? Having Tony in front of him? Having Tony alive?

That makes sense. That seems right. It’s the only thing that does.

Tony is alive.

The smile Tony shoots him is wistful as he turns towards the horizon, drenching his profile in sepia tones as his honeyed eyes reflect the dying lights of the sun.

Like Colonel Rhodes standing at the pulpit giving his eulogy, looking like he’s delivering a sentence that promises nothing but devastating loss; Tony looks both too young and so very old at once, and Bucky’s heart falls like a stone.

“You aren’t…are you? Alive?”

“Yes, and no.”

“Tony…”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say my name.”

To that Bucky has no response and there must be a look on Bucky’s face because Tony exhales a sigh.

Over the rush of the waves below them, Tony tells him a story – how he’d been recovering after the Bunker and gotten a visit from a Doctor Foster – how she’d told him of the Titan’s estimated landfall – how he’d tried to prepare once more even though no one would listen – how it was all happening concurrently with the amendment of the Accords and the Avengers’ disintegration – and how his broken body couldn’t keep up with the demands of any of it.

How he’d decided that he wasn’t enough to save them, and then did the only thing left to do – he lay on the wire and he said goodbye.

“Doctor Cho hypothesized that Extremis would make me the closest thing to immortal so that when I did get my hands on the Infinity Stones, I’d be able to actually use them.”

 “Is that what you wanted?” _Did you want to make it out alive?_

He huffs out something between a laugh and a sob. “God, no. I almost – I almost refused. I didn’t want – I’m so goddamn tired, and I was actually looking forward to –” Tony blinks against the fading sunshine, the light catching a glimmer of tears, and Bucky hopes desperately that if he reaches for him that Tony will feel it, that he will be able to finally touch another person and not bring them to ruin.

(Not that there’s anything Bucky can ruin of Tony now – Thanos had guaranteed it – Tony had co-signed on it – Bucky can’t hurt him anymore.)

Almost to himself, Tony babbles, “Don’t tell me you’re sorry, don’t -”

Bucky tries and though his hand goes through air, Tony’s breath hitches on a breath he doesn’t need. _I felt that_ his expression says, and Bucky replies, “Me too…me too.”

After everything that’s happened to them – their stories running like parallel lines – the only mercy they’ve ever had to look forward to was the peace that would come after, and now Tony – Tony’s given his up.

Bucky doesn’t need to ask why there had been a ceremony at all when they’d had ashes to give to the sky above and the sea below, and when Tony’s family mourns for Tony _with Tony_.

Not everyone will understand that the true loss of final sleep being taken away – their only hope for rest, gone.

But there’d been a body, at least. Tony’s body. That would – that would make it easier.

And if Tony were dead, that would be easier to swallow (safer too, Bucky imagines) than a ghost of him existing in his place.

(No one could hurt him anymore if they didn’t know he was still here.)

Besides, of all the things Tony’s wanted – deserved – it was to say goodbye – on much of his own terms as he’s ever been allowed.

 “Why?” Bucky finds himself asking, half to the universe that’s found it fit to punish Tony as it does, and half to the man himself. When Tony hums in askance, Bucky clears his throat. “Why did you choose here?” he clarifies instead even as he thinks that it doesn’t really matter, not when he remembers the day where he’d fallen from that train – where he’d been forced to leave one life behind for another.

Bucky certainly likes this view a hell of a lot better.

At this moment, nothing’s more tragically beautiful than this Malibu sunset.

At that, Tony chuckles.

“They told me I couldn’t build my home here. It was too unstable.” _I was too unstable,_ is what Bucky hears in the undercurrent of Tony’s wan smile. “But I did it anyway. I did it to spite them.” _I didn’t have many choices for how I got here, only that I got to make them, only that they were mine and no one could take them from me._

Above them, the sky bruises.

 “They found a way to blow it up though, and I can’t even blame them because I gave them the opening to do it.” _In the end, I helped them hurt me._ “It’s the one lesson I’d never really learned.” _I could never close myself up enough to prevent it happening again._ Tony smirks, almost to himself and says, “Some genius, right?” And he doesn’t sound as bitter as he does sad. _Of all the things I’ve become, I didn’t want to be invulnerable. I didn’t want to be alone, no matter what that meant. No matter how much of my heart they chipped away. No matter how much of my body they broke. No matter how little I meant to them._

The sea rushes against the cliff, and Bucky can almost hear every tide turn in on itself, writhing against the pull of the moon as the stars blink back tears – like they can’t believe the atoms that made them, made someone like Tony – and that someone else, _anyone else_ could have ever found him lacking.

 _Impossible,_ they seem to say, growing brighter in an indignation Bucky is imaging but feels better for feeling nonetheless even as he tells Tony on their behalf, “It wasn’t your fault.” _It was theirs. It was them. It was us._ “You were always willing to give it all up for someone else’s life. You were always willing to do what needed to be done. Not because you were asked, or forced, or chosen. You did it because you’re worth the whole lot of us.”

_Life for death, death for life; ours for yours, us for you._

“Well, I am Iron Man,” Tony says with an ironic twist of his lips, and Bucky shakes his head minutely.

That’s not enough. Not even close. Because Iron Man is a suit of armor; a codename, a headline, a body, a vessel.

“You’re Tony Stark, and that’s even better.”

At that, Tony looks at him with that same pleasant surprise as when they’d first met, and Bucky thinks that while death has evaded Tony, he’s still found a way to set himself free – one way or another.

(And his small smile after is arguably even better than the smirk.

Bucky’s missed heartbeat seems to agree.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm still waiting for some of my fics to be unsuspended which should hopefully be sometime today? *fingers crossed* But until then, I hope you guys enjoyed this. Thank you to Unikormz for the prompt, I hope I did it justice x


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